


Two Super Soldiers, a Falcon and a '68 Beetle

by Kimbali



Series: The Trials and Travels of Team Cap [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), captain america: civil war - Fandom
Genre: 1968 Volkswagon Beetle, Bobble-head, Bonding, Bucky's world trip, Captain America - Freeform, Clint and Co. hitch a ride, Conspiracy Theories, Feels, Funnies, Gen, History Lessons, Natasha keeps secrets, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Road Trip, Sokovia Accords, Star Spangled Man with the Plan, best friend meet girlfriend (and don't try to kill her), falcon - Freeform, not-so-grand theft auto, some serious talk, spiritual journeys of self-discovery, the contents of Bucky's backpack, winter soldier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 07:24:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10804509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimbali/pseuds/Kimbali
Summary: During Captain America: Civil War, Steve, Bucky and Sam steal a VW Beetle to escape the Joint-Terrorism Task Force and get to the airport. This is the story of that road trip.Ultimate maths quiz: If Tony Stark flies from Berlin to Queens and back again in a private jet while taking the time to eat date loaf and collect and outfit a super-skilled teenager, and Clint travels in an unknown mode of transport to upstate New York, then via San Francisco to Leipzig/Halle airport, Germany, and everyone is able to arrive in the same place at the same time, what is the average speed of a blue 1968 Volkswagon Beetle carrying two super soldiers, a para-rescue trooper, and a bobble-head bulldog travelling from Berlin to Leipzig/Halle airport?More importantly, what did they talk about on the way?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a small excerpt written simply because I had a song stuck in my head and I had writers block on another Bucky inspired piece that I may never finish. What do you do with an earworm? Try to put it in someone else’s head. Sorry Buck.
> 
> Then I started having fun and kept writing. Wasn't originally intended to have chapters, but due to size, chapters happened.  
> Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it :)

The first step was to steal a getaway car.

“I hate having to steal from people. Someone might really need this car.”

The ex-assassin snorted and rolled his eyes from where he was kneeling by the car door. Fought HYDRA and Nazis in a World War, 70-odd years on ice, woke up in new age to lead a team of superheroes, but a part of Steve never changed. “You picked it. We're a little high profile to walk into a car yard and buy one. If it makes you feel better, we’ll leave it somewhere it can be found easily once we’re done with it.”

 As the sniper in the group he should be the one keeping watch, but Sam had pulled that duty when they realised that Bucky had the best skills for breaking into and stealing cars without notice. Not, he admitted silently, that this battered little 1968 Volkswagon Beetle was much of a challenge.

The little car shifted as Steve leaned his weight against it, eyes scanning the parking lot. “I’m surprised you didn’t just smash a window.”

Bucky grunted adjusting his makeshift lockpick to the new angle caused by the car’s movement. “People notice a smashed window. Besides, you don’t want to steal the damned car, but you want me to damage it?” The lock clicked and he pulled the door open. He forced a narrow flat piece of metal into the keyhole of the ignition, hammered it in with the palm of his vibranium hand and turned it; a couple of adjustments and the Beetle coughed to life, spitting out a cloud of black exhaust.

Steve let out a piercing whistle, attracting Sam’s attention – the communication units still being held by the Joint-Terrorism Task Force with the rest of their gear – and Sam came around the corner, his eyebrows shooting up at the sight of their ride.

“What the hell is _that_?”

Bucky smirked at the reaction. “Steve picked it.”

“We needed something low profile,” Steve explained defensively.

“It certainly is that. Any lower profile, we’ll be dragging our asses on asphalt. Are we going to even fit in that clown car?”

“It might not be comfortable, but we’ll fit. We’re all soldiers, close quarters is nothing new.”

Bucky shrugged. “Hate to say it, but most of the cars in this lot are modern – onboard computers, GPS, central locking, alarms, immobilisers. Harder to break into, easier to track. Either we won’t need it for long, or we’ll be on the run long enough we’ll need to switch vehicles anyway.”

Sam sighed, shoulders sagging. “Fine. But I’m calling shotgun.”

Bucky blinked, wondering for a moment where the hell Sam had gotten a shotgun...and suddenly realised that Steve was claiming the driver’s seat – no one arguing against the Cap taking the wheel – and Sam was already on the side of the front passenger seat. Meaning he was being forced into the back.

For a moment he considered vaulting over the Beetle to beat Sam to the front seat. Dismissed it as a petty use of super-reflexes. He wasn’t a child.

Pretty unfair though, considering it was him that broke into the car in the first place.

He slid into the rear seat, and winced as the car groaned under the combined weight of the three men. They froze apprehensively, half expecting the car to collapse beneath them, the only movement coming from the bobble-headed bulldog on the dashboard; when it became apparent that the Beetle was going to hold them, Steve put it in reverse and pulled out of the lot.

“So Cap, what’s the plan?” Sam asked.

Steve scraped the car over a speedbump with a crunch that felt like Bucky’s ass had just made contact with the road. _Dragging asses on asphalt. Thanks for that imagery Sam_. The bulldog nodded sympathetically.

“We’re going to have to go get the quinjet first.”

“Really? We’re not driving this rustbucket all the way to Siberia?”

“No.” Either Steve ignore the sarcasm, or his mind was too much on working out a plan to notice it. Bucky was laying money on the second. “We're going to need back up, and we’re going to need our gear back. So we’re going to call Clint for the back-up, and talk to Sharon; Tony’s got to figure we would head for the quinjet, he might have moved it elsewhere. And we need Sharon to get our gear out of hock.”

“Tell her I want my backpack too.” Another bump and something rolled against his foot. He dug around in the tiny space to find the object.

“What’s in the backpack?” Sam asked curiously.

Bucky shrugged as much as the tight space would allow. “Mostly snacks.” The object turned out to be a plastic bottle of virulent green liquid with no label. He wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a drink or radiator coolant; it was hard to tell with modern drinks sometimes. “Some cash. Romanian passport. Plus my own kit.”

“Your uniform?”

He snorted. “You know it’s only a uniform if more than one person is wearing the same thing, right?”

“Guys.” Steve’s tone brought both of their attention back on him. “It’s great that you two are bonding, really, but maybe we should focus.”

They both fell silent for a moment. “I’ll give Clint a call, see who he can round up.”

“Clint’s retired.”

“You think he wouldn’t still get involved if we needed him? At least let him know what’s happening, let him choose. And definitely want Wanda on our side. And I know another guy that’s a potential ally.”

“Yeah, you mentioned. Who is this guy?”

“Scott Lang. Also goes by Ant-man. Ex-thief, has some shrinking tech invented by Hank Pym, who seems to be sort of the Tony Stark of San Francisco, but a lot less...less Tony. Anyway, Lang took down the guy who had taken over Pym Technologies; seems he was trying to recreate and sell the tech to outfit super soldiers.”

Bucky snorted.

“Yeah, I know right?” Sam agreed. “Same old, same old.”

Steve thought for a moment. “Alright. Give him a call, see if he’ll join the fight.”

“And you’ll call Sharon Carter? I mean, she’s helped us so far and seems to think we’re right, but she’ll still be putting her job on the line.”

“Wait.” Bucky stared at the back of Steve’s head with interest. “Sharon _Carter_?”

Steve was concentrating a little too hard on the road. “Peggy was Sharon’s great-aunt.”

 _Was_. _Shit_. “Christ, Steve. I never thought...” he grabbed Steve’s shoulder. The gesture felt weird – both familiar, but out of practice. “When?”

“Only a few days ago. Before all this...” he waved a hand vaguely. He glanced at Bucky in the rear view mirror, and from his angle Bucky could see the sad smile twist up. “She was old, Buck.”

“You met her again before she died?”

Steve nodded wordlessly. Bucky gripped his shoulder tighter, but couldn’t think of anything to say. It had been a long time since he had comforted someone.

“Sharon’s a chip off the block, from everything I’ve heard,” Sam supplied, turning the conversation back to the living.

The regretful smile twisted into something more amused. “Sharon’s tough, but not quite as aggressive as Peggy was. But then, it was different back in the forties, Peg had to fight harder for respect. If Peg needed to earn respect real fast, she’d happily punch a guy out cold on first meeting. But yeah, Sharon’s got that strong sense of what’s right, same as Peggy had.”

 _Same as you have_ , Bucky thought, amused at how pink Steve’s ears were. Seems Steve is a sucker for Carters.

 

****

 

Turns out that public pay phones were harder to come by in 2016, an age when everyone had cell phones. Finding one that wasn’t vandalised beyond use was proving to be even more difficult. A burner phone was out of the question; even the cheapest prepaid required a show of ID now, and all three were wanted men. Bucky was the only one with fake ID from his time living in Bucharest, but that was in the backpack held by the Task Force.

During the time spent driving around looking for a pay phone, Bucky explored the junk under the back seat. Aside from the bottle of green liquid he’d found earlier, he turned up a single running shoe – men’s, sized ten and a half, left foot – three more bottles with varying amounts of water still in them, a set of jumper leads, a towel that smelled like it must’ve been used at the gym and not washed since, half a tube of spearmint Mentos, three Burger King wrappers and one from a German fast food joint Bucky didn’t recognise, an unopened condom, two reusable shopping bags, one of which had a large hole in the bottom, a scattering of receipts, post-it notes, paper and candy wrappers, something unidentifiable squashed into the carpet, and 4.35 euro in small change.

“Here’s some cash for the payphone if you need it.” He dropped the change into Sam’s hand.

“Thanks. We have to find a damned payphone first.”

Steve frowned. “It’s bad enough that we’ve stolen the car, we aren’t stealing the money as well.”

Sam and Bucky exchanged speaking glances behind his back.

“Well we’re going to need fuel too, if this keeps up. For the car and ourselves.” He popped one of the Mentos into his mouth.

“Gas stations mean security cameras.”

“And running out of gas along the autobahn means a long walk at best, or a car accident at worst,” Bucky pointed out. “Steve, don’t pull the car into the gas station – park it some distance away, and you or Sam can walk in there, buy a jerry can and fill it up, making out like you had run out of gas further back. That way even if security cameras catch you, they won’t get any image of the car you’re driving off in.” he added: “check for a payphone while you’re in there.” He thought a moment more. “And buy food.”

Sam twisted around in his seat to look at him. “Why aren’t you buying the food and gas?” he demanded.

Bucky held up both his hands in answer.

“Aww, come on!”

His gloves had been lost somewhere back in Bucharest.

“And I don’t have any money on me,” he admitted. Sam and Steve, being not-quite-prisoners of the Joint-Terrorism Task Force, had managed to keep hold of their wallets.

“Well I don’t speak German.”

“It’s alright,” Steve said, pulling the car into an empty spot and turning off the engine. “I’ve got it.” He stared at the loose change for a moment, then sighed reluctantly, grabbed a fistful of coins and left.

 An unsettled silence filled the tiny Beetle for some time after Steve’s absence – Bucky started to realise that for all that he knew of the man in the front seat, friendship with Steve was all they had in common. And from their interaction so far – and by that he meant the conversations within this car, not so much the fighting and infrastructure damage – he thought maybe he should get to know the guy for his own friendship. _Bonding,_ Steve had called it _._

“So,” he started tentatively. “Steve mentioned you were a soldier?”

“Air Force para-rescue. 58th Rescue Squadron. Did a couple of tours in Afghanistan before I quit the military.”

“Why did you quit?” Bucky wanted to know.

“My partner got blown out of the sky.”

Bucky felt a shiver run through him. “That’s why you were helping Steve try to find me all that time.”

“If I suddenly found out that Riley was still alive being held prisoner somewhere, being tortured and used like you were, I would damn sure want to free him of it.”

Bucky felt moved to make a gesture of thanks. He fished out the cleanest looking water bottle from under the seat. He took a mouthful of it himself first – the water had picked up the plasticky taste of the bottle after being left in a hot car for too long, but seemed clean enough – and offered it to Sam. “Drink?”

Sam laughed, the whole car shaking with the movement, the bulldog’s head bobbling away as if it was laughing too. He accepted the bottle and sucked back a mouthful. “Cheapskate.”

“I’ll buy you a real drink when we get a chance.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

When Steve returned with a jerry can in one hand and a shopping bag in the other the atmosphere in the tiny Beetle was a lot more amiable.

****

 “I like this guy.”

 It was Sam’s turn to make his phone calls. Bucky and Steve ate while leaning against the little car, because Steve didn’t like the idea of them eating burgers inside a car that didn’t belong to them. From the crap he had found in the back seat, Bucky suspected that the owner wouldn’t even notice if they messed it up further.

“Sam? I thought you would like him,” Steve smiled. Despite his grief over Peggy’s death, his worry over the way the team had split over the Sokovia Accords, the fact that he and two of his best friends were wanted criminals, and now his worry over the possibility of more Winter Soldiers, he was enjoying having his oldest friend back. “He’s really good to talk to. He’s been helping veterans work through some of the more psychological scars of war.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raised. “He didn’t mention that.”

“Maybe he could help you some.”

Bucky stilled at that. “Steve, I…”

“It’s not like it used to be Buck,” he insisted relentlessly. “They’ve studied it more. It’s not just passed off as malingering, or…or cowardice. It’s Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. PTSD.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Bucky replied darkly.

“Right. So you know they don’t even call it shell-shock anymore, because it’s so much broader than that – not just soldiers, any kind of trauma. I mean, you know what it was like back in the forties, everyone tried to suppress it, we were told to man up about it – now they talk it through, they talk to other people who have been through similar things, and it helps, knowing you’re not alone in it.”

“Not alone? Christ, Steve, after the shit I’ve been through, I prefer to think I’m alone in that. No one else should have to go through it!”

“Those other soldiers we’re going after –“

“Are not going to be sitting around in a circle talking about their _feelings_.” Steve looked like he’d been slapped at the sarcasm he had put on that last, but Bucky ploughed on. “You think, if I went to one of those sessions, if I talked about what I went through in front of those other soldiers – told them that I had been a prisoner of war, experimented on and tortured, killed people, lost a limb, then imprisoned and tortured some more for _70-odd years_? That I spent 70 years killing people on command, with no question, and little memory of it?” he sobbed, his breath harsh. His left hand flexed in an unconscious reaction to his distress and he clenched it into a fist to stop it from lashing out and adding another regret to his list. “That any of them would begin to understand that?”

“Yes.”

Bucky stared at him, lost for words. Steve met his gaze with a pained one of his own. “I told Sam once that after 70 years on ice, having plunged into the Arctic in 1945 and woken up in 2012, I didn’t know how I fitted in anymore. I’d lost my best friend, the woman I had loved had changed so much, had aged and moved on with her life. My home wasn’t my home anymore. The people were different, my friends and family were lost; everything was unfamiliar. For a while I didn’t feel like I had a purpose anymore. You know what he said? If he had a dollar for every soldier that returned home from war and didn’t know how to fit in anymore. And the details might be different, might have been 7 years instead of 70, and maybe in one situation it’s the soldier that has changed and returned to a home that has refused to change with them, while in another it’s the unchanged soldier returned to a world they don’t recognise, but the effect is the same, and that’s what needs to be dealt with: the feeling of displacement. The feeling of being an outsider from the world you’ve fought so hard for.” He ran fingers through his hair and gasped a shaky breath, seeing the dumbfounded look on Bucky’s face. “Shit, Buck, you think you’re the only soldier to lose a limb in the line of duty? You’re not. You think you’re the only soldier to have been captured by the enemy? Tortured? You’re not. Hell, there’s plenty of _civilians_ have lost body parts and been through captivity and abuse. And the brainwashing? Well there’s plenty of ways to brainwash someone, that don’t involve electricity to the brain and cryogenic freezing. You fought in World War II – you know that there are plenty of soldiers, on both sides of the conflict, who mindlessly follow orders, who get caught up in the chain of command, or deliberately switch off their brain because it’s easier than having to own their actions. And sometime further down the track those soldiers, if there is any semblance of humanity left in them, have to face the terrible things they did while they were _just following orders._ ” Steve choked out that last, body shaking. “Talking about your _feelings_ is the important bit. The feelings are what we have in common with the others. The rest? The rest is just details.”

Steve turned away, still shaking, and Bucky stared at his back, lost for words. His memories could still be a little sketchy, but he was sure he’d never seen Steve so undone.

“Hey guys.” Sam chose that moment to jog around the corner. “Clint’s in; he’s going to go to Avengers HQ to persuade Wanda. And I got Lang on board too, he seemed pretty flattered to think that Captain America needed his help. Clint’s going to pick him up on the way over.” Sam skidded to a stop and glanced between the two of them, clearly picking up on the tension. “Wait. What’d I miss?”

 

****

“Sharon said that Tony had the quinjet moved to the Leipzig-Halle Airport. They figured if we were going to try to get anywhere fast, the quinjet is what we would be aiming for.” He’d already told them that after he’d made the call; it was just awkwardly quiet in the car after his outburst, and he needed to break the silence.

Sam snorted. “Instead we went for the 1968 VW Beetle. With a bobble head bulldog.” He flicked at the toy, making the head bounce.

Steve ignored him. “Sharon’s going to get hold of our gear, we’re going to meet her up on the outskirts of Berlin.”

“I mentioned to Clint that Leipzig/Halle was going to be the meeting point. He said they will be there.”

“How are they getting there?” Steve asked curiously. “As far as I know we don’t have a second quinjet?”

Sam shrugged. “He called through to Hill who apparently knows a guy who can drop them off in Germany on his way through to deal with something else. Seemed all very secret squirrel, I didn’t ask for details.”

“Yeah well, SHIELD isn’t as dead as the general public thinks, maybe that’s her connection. Hill never really stopped working for Fury and SHIELD, even while Tony was paying her wage.”

The car lapsed into silence again.

Sam broke the silence first. “Hey Bucky? There’s something I’ve been wondering about.”

“Mm?”

“HYDRA set you up to be this super-secret, super soldier assassin, yeah? Nat said you were like the ultimate ghost story told around the campfire on spy camp or whatever. No one was supposed to know that you existed, or who you worked for. So why would they bother painting a Soviet star on your shoulder?”

Bucky saw Steve twitch at that, as if wanting to turn around but catching himself in time, keeping his eye on the road. Clearly he hadn’t thought of it, but was just as interested in the answer. “Well,” he said slowly. “HYDRA’s primary motive is to cause chaos and conflict. It gives them a foothold to gain power.” He looked at the back of Steve’s head. “You remember what the event that gave Hitler the excuse to invade Poland?”

Steve nodded, frowning.  “Gestapo soldiers dressed in Polish uniforms and staged an attack at Gleiwitz.”

“Except those weren’t just Gestapo soldiers. They were HYDRA agents within the Gestapo.”

“HYDRA pushed the invasion into Poland?” Sam looked intrigued when Bucky nodded. “Were they responsible for starting the First World War too? For assassinating Franz-Ferdinand?”

Bucky shrugged. “Couldn’t say. Haven’t found any record of it, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t. Doesn’t mean they did, though, either; plenty of other people have agendas too.”

Sam nodded thoughtfully. “Just because Aristotle is a cat, doesn’t mean all cats are named Aristotle.”

Bucky had no idea what that meant, so he ignored it.

“The star on your arm…” Steve prodded.

“Right. So they gave me the Soviet star, not the HYDRA octopus, during the height of the Cold War, when tensions between the Soviet and the West are at their highest. So while I remained unnoticed, uncaught, I remained a ghost story, but if I was caught or killed…” he shook his head. “Most of my targets were champions of capitalism and the West, or of civil rights, or were traitors to the Soviet regime, because that was where HYDRA had most control – and even then, they would happily turn on Communist leaders that no longer served their purpose. But if I were found out, the star serves the same purpose as those Polish uniforms – it laid the blame where they want it to be laid.” He smiled grimly. “If I get sent to very publicly assassinate some VIP in Dallas, it doesn’t get traced back to the secret society playing two sides off against each other, it just gives a reason to escalate the conflict.”

“Wait, wait, hold on.” Sam twisted around at that, and even Steve jerked the wheel, nearly forgetting himself. The bulldog head bobbed around until it seemed to be staring at him too. “Dallas?” Sam repeated in disbelief. “As in Dallas, Texas?”

Bucky just met his gaze levelly.

“Holy shit.” Sam flopped back into his seat gazing out the windscreen. The bulldog was a little harder to stare down, but another bump in the road eventually sent it bobbling away again.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Including the original scene that sparked all this - I had that song stuck in my head for a fricking week.   
> Also figured a quinjet to be as fast (or faster) than a Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird which holds the flight airspeed record (3,530 km/h (2,193 mph) - roughly 3.5 times faster than a Boeing 747, which apparently would take 13.5 hours from SF to Leipzig. The more you know.) Google maps reckons it takes 2 hours drive from Berlin to Leipzig/Halle airport, but that's not accounting for 3 heavy-weight superheroes and a bobble-head bulldog in a '68 Beetle. With stops.
> 
> enjoy :)

Sharon Carter turned out to be the blonde woman he’d seen at the Joint-Terrorism Task Force base. She’d been waiting under the overpass, by a non-descript silver sedan, the kind of car that could have been anything from government issue to corporate to rental. She raised her eyebrows as the battered little Beetle rattled to a halt, still struggling under the weight of three grown men.

Now that he knew she was related to Peggy, Bucky inspected her more carefully, searching for the family resemblance. There wasn’t much; Peggy wasn’t particularly short, but hadn’t been as tall as this Sharon either, and had been curvier even in the unflattering military uniform. And, well, Bucky knew better than to trust a woman’s hair colour, but he got the feeling the blonde was natural. Dark eyes though, and from memory the shape of them were the same as Peg’s.

He watched the way she interacted with Steve, her posture and body language, and decided Steve was right; not as much of a ball-buster as Peggy had been. And clearly very attracted to Steve. Seemed to be pretty mutual actually. He wondered if it was easier for him that she didn’t look much like Peg.

Sharon turned and glanced at the two men still in the car. Her eyes caught Bucky’s for a moment and she shot him a narrow eyed look.

_Oh. Now there’s the family resemblance_. He’d received that look a few times back in the forties when he’d done something to annoy Peggy.

He suddenly remembered slamming her bodily down into a table, and shifted guiltily. The woman must really be something for not wanting to turn him in after that. He was brought up short by the limited space and had to fight down the feeling of being trapped.

“Can you move your seat forward?”

“No.” it was a very solid no.

Yeah, that didn’t help. Although he supposed Sam didn’t have much more leg room than he did. He shifted sideways.

Outside Sharon had opened the trunk to reveal the unmistakable red, white and blue of the shield, his pack and Sam’s gear tucked in beside it. From Sharon and Steve’s body language, neither were in any rush to part yet though.

“So, are they...?”

 Sam glanced back at him and returned to the show. “Dating? Not yet. They keep getting interrupted before they get to that point.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Steve.”

The two people outside the car swayed together, apparently oblivious to their audience. Bucky tried to suppress a smirk of satisfaction as Steve deepened the kiss.

“Here we go!” Sam cheered quietly.

“Looks like he’s finally managed to learn something over the past 70 years,” Bucky agreed. Steve hadn’t had much luck with women until Peggy, but Peg had been strict about keeping her private life private, and Steve had respected that; thinking back, Bucky realised this was probably the first time he’d seen Steve kiss a woman.

They pulled apart looking a little dazed; Sharon was the first to recover, looking both pleased and embarrassed and turning to unload the gear from the car. Steve glanced over at them suddenly remembering his audience; seeing identical smirks, he rolled his eyes.

Bucky and Sam got out of the car, taking the opportunity to stretch their legs and check over the contents of their gear before stowing it. Bucky’s Romanian ID hadn’t been returned, and neither had the handgun – he supposed as the designated villain he’d been put into a different threat category from the two well-meaning but disgraced superheroes – but the rest of the kit was there. Sharon had even left in the cash and snacks.

“Snickers bar?” he offered, pulling one out for himself.

Steve accepted – no surprise there – and so did Sam, but Sharon smiled and shook her head. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

He shrugged a little awkward. “Thanks for bringing my pack. There’s not much in it, but...”

“But it’s yours.” She seemed to get it.

They stood watching Sam and Steve argue the logistics of cramming a round shield into the small rectangular trunk of the Beetle.

“I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I hope you weren’t hurt too bad?”

“A little bruised and battered,” she admitted. “But that wasn’t your fault and we both know it.”

“That’s the thing though.” He had trouble meeting her eyes. “A part of me knows it isn’t my fault. Another part of me remembers the feel of doing it. I remember the feel of the rifle kick. The feel of someone’s neck under my hands. Their eyes...” he choked. “Why would you help me?”

She turned to study his face. “A couple of reasons. Steve trusts you, and he’s a good judge of character.”

“So you’re only doing this for Steve. Not for me.” That actually made more sense to him.

“Let me finish.” And that tone was so much like Peggy, he met her eyes, startled. “Yeah, it’s partly Steve. But Aunt Peggy was a good judge of character too. She liked you. You think Captain America, Captain Steven Rogers was all she talked about? I got plenty of stories about Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes growing up too.” Sharon bumped her shoulder against his, and then winced, having forgotten she was on the side of his metal shoulder. “Ow. She told me about this man who always stuck up for the little guy. The little guy being Steve, mostly. She said you always seemed to respect her. She respected you too. A sergeant who tried to protect the younger soldiers from having to do the worst things to other people, even if it meant having to do it himself. People like you – people like Steve and Aunt Peggy – don’t just follow bad orders, they don’t let that become an excuse. They try to work out some way around the orders, or they outright defy them if they have to.”

Steve was now watching them from a distance, obviously wondering what they were discussing so seriously and a little concerned that it might be about him; she ignored him and ploughed on. “The fact that you have regrets, still have nightmares about the people you killed as the Winter Soldier – you have a conscience still. You're still human, there’s still something worth saving. And from what Steve told me about those soldiers you are going after, they don’t have that. Even before they signed up to be super soldiers, any issues they might have had about killing and torturing, they just excused away as following orders. So you need to stop them.”

He swallowed and nodded. She patted the metal shoulder. “Besides – Steve has already agreed that he owes me for doing this. He can pay me back.” The look she turned towards Steve was a very different Peggy Look to the one he had received, and despite the serious talk Bucky found himself cracking a reluctant smile at the way Steve blushed. Which was possibly what Sharon had intended. “Go on. Steve needs you at his back.”

****

Turned out the shield wasn’t going to fit in the trunk. It was now adding to the clutter in the back seat and damn near halved his leg room.

Bucky stared broodingly at his reflection in the brightly coloured metal, vaguely aware of the worried glances being exchanged in the front. He had intended to take over Sam’s seat when they got back into the car, but instead had slid into the back again, wanting the dubious privacy to mull over Sharon’s words.

“Bucky?” Steve called back, watching him worriedly in the rear view mirror.

“Mm?”

“You ok back there pal?”

Bucky grunted something vaguely affirmative, still staring at the shield. It didn’t seem to reassure anyone.

A thought suddenly occurred to him, and he looked up. “Steve, this business with the Sokovia Accords. Why didn’t you want to sign it?”

Steve shifted in his seat, hands flexing on the wheel. “It didn’t seem right Buck.”

“What wasn’t right about it?” he insisted. “What was your reasoning?”

Steve sat silent for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “A few things. The Accords outline a plan to keep a register of people with more than human abilities – inhumans, nonhumans, enhanced, mutants, whatever – keeping a record of their personal details, where they are, what they can do. Records of DNA and fingerprints. They would be expected to wear ID, and check in regularly, like they were on parole, even the ones that hadn’t caused any trouble. If they’re deemed a threat, the can be detained indefinitely, no trial, nothing.” His troubled eyes met Bucky’s in the rear view mirror. “We’ve seen that happen before. We’ve seen what that can turn into.”

Bucky nodded in agreement.

“And it wasn’t real clear on who would be maintaining that register. Who would have access to it. And the moment you have all of that information collected into one place there’s a risk of it being stolen or hacked or leaked to the kind of people who would use it to their own ends. There would be those who would want to use it as a hit list, and others who’ll go out recruiting.” He shook his head. “Yeah there needs to be some kind of policing that can handle it, but the policing should only happen in response to a crime or a known threat, just like it does with regular humans. Innocent civilians, whether human or not, shouldn’t be made to feel like criminals.”

“And for the Avengers personally? What do the Accords mean for you?”

“It would mean the US government would be holding our leash,” Sam responded quietly. “Or ‘supervising’ as they put it. We won’t be able to help people just because they need help anymore. It means that it would take 117 countries on the UN panel to agree that there is a big enough threat to need us before we get sent in – and let’s face it, get 117 people into a room together trying to agree on something, it’s gonna take a while, even before you throw in national agendas on top of the personal ones. And if they can't agree that it's a big enough threat to warrant calling us in, we get to sit back and watch the destruction and mayhem on TV like the rest of the world.”

“And if they do call you in?”

Sam shrugged. “Then we have to do what we’re told. What the US government tells us to do, I guess, they would by the supervising entity. I don’t know what that means if the threat to humanity comes from a conflict between those 117 countries, or from the US government. If World War 3 started because of politics, would we just be considered another set of weapons held by the US?” he glanced back at Bucky as he said it, and Bucky understood perfectly.

“We’ve caused a lot of collateral, but I just don’t trust that governments could do it any better. When we fought the Chitari in New York, the US military sent in nuclear missiles. Into New York, Buck! I crashed a plane into the Arctic trying to prevent New York from being nuked by the enemy once, and here was our own military about to wipe out their own civilians and call it collateral. How many more lives would have been lost? Compared to the numbers of lives that we did lose?” His jaw tightened into an expression Bucky recognised all too well. “The damage we cause, the lives that are lost while we are fighting an enemy – I don’t want that to become ok just because it was all legally ratified by a group of people who are nowhere near the conflict. What happened in Sokovia and Lagos was our mistakes, our bad judgements, no one else. We need to own that ourselves. This just shifts the blame off us onto someone else. We would be selling our souls, and it won’t make a damn difference to the outcome. And I can’t fight for something I don’t believe in.”

Like he hadn’t already known that about Steve. “And Stark disagrees?”

“Tony has never had to follow orders. Not really – even on mission, he’ll only take orders from me if it’s something he already wants to do, and even then he’ll sometimes bend them a little. And while he’s brilliant at tech he’s not so good at people. So while he feels guilty for creating Ultron and causing the destruction of Sokovia, he doesn’t know how to deal with the guilt. And when he came face to face with a very personal, human reminder of it, he couldn’t face the blame. His response is to make someone else responsible for it.” He fell silent for a moment. “I don’t think he’s in the right headspace to think it through properly, just reacting to the guilt. And I wonder how long it will be before the Accords start chafing at him. He’s normally pretty contrary.”

Sam snorted at that. “Understatement of the year.”

“Not just following orders.” That’s what Sharon had meant.

“I knew you would understand Buck.”

Fair enough. Silence filled the tiny car, and Bucky traced a finger over the star engraved on the shield. Thought about the star on his shoulder. Weird, he reflected, that they were the same thing, just a five-point star, but could come to represent such opposites. They didn’t mean anything in themselves, but if enough people attach their belief to a simple picture, it becomes a symbol for a set of values.

“What will you do?”

“Christ, Buck. Can’t we deal with one crisis at a time?”

****

All three of them stared bleakly out of the windows, caught up in their own thoughts. Bucky wasn’t surprised to see it was Steve that cracked first.

“Put some music on. News headlines or something,” Steve muttered. He turned on the radio to break the silence. The old fashioned radio hissed to life, and he dialled the knob back and forth until he caught something; just an advertisement, but it served as white noise and sooner or later music or a talk show or something had to come on.

Steve went back to staring out at the road, until Sam sat up and groaned.

“Oh, hell no. Really?”

Steve didn’t get it at first; the song seemed nice enough, upbeat and cheerful with a bit of a beachy feel to it. He’d heard a lot worse in the 21st century…

Then he picked up on the lyrics.

_Flew in from Miami Beach BOAC_

_Didn't get to bed last night_

_On the way the paper bag was on my knee_

_Man, I had a dreadful flight_

_I'm back in the USS…_

“This is going to be our mission soundtrack?” Sam said incredulously. “I mean, I bet Stark and Nat and Rhodey are probably in a jet right now belting out Led Zep or Metallica or something. Not that I’m much into heavy metal, but at least it’s bad ass. What do we get? The Beatles in a Beetle. That is just too precious.”

_Well the Ukraine girls really knock me out_

_They leave the west behind_

_And Moscow girls make me sing and shout_

_That Georgia's always on my my my my my my my my my mind…_

"Not to mention the whole Soviet theme we've got going here. Couldn’t make this stuff up…”

 Steve heard a strangled grunt from behind him and felt his seat bump as Bucky shifted suddenly. He exchanged a look of alarm with Sam, who twisted around in his seat.

Christ, if there was something in that song that acted as a trigger…or a different trigger, making him self-destruct or something…there wasn’t enough room in the car to deal with the Winter Soldier...

Steve quickly pulled the car off to the shoulder and turned to look; Bucky was leaning forward elbows braced on his knees, shoulders shaking; looking down at his hands, expression hidden behind his hair...

“Bucky?” Steve croaked, low and urgent. “Bucky, stay with us pal...”

Bucky finally raised his head revealing his expression; shoulders shaking and wheezing with suppressed laughter at the ridiculous situation, which turned to outright laughter at the look on both Steve’s and Sam’s faces. Sam picked up the sweaty gym towel and threw it at his head.

“You asshole.”

_I’m back in the USSR_

_You don't know how lucky you are, boys_

_Back in the USSR_

The earworm stayed with him through the rest of the trip.

****

They made a quick pit stop just outside of Linthe. Stretching gratefully and trying to rub some feeling back into his ass, Sam wandered off behind some trees for a quick piss.

Bucky stretched out alongside Steve, who was leaning on the back of the car frowning down at something held in the palm of his hand. When Bucky looked down he saw one of the comm units Sharon had liberated.

“It’s gonna take time for Clint to get here. He’s got to get to Avengers Headquarters in upstate New York. Collect Lang from San Francisco, unless Lang has a way to catch up to him somehow. Seems this connection of Maria’s has access to one of the older model quinjets, which is a hell of a lot faster than a commercial flight” – for a second he pictured Hawkeye, the Scarlet Witch and Ant-Man travelling cattle-class, fully kitted up – “but we’re still talking maybe four hour flight from San Francisco to Germany, from the time we called Clint, and that’s on top of however long it might take to get Wanda and Lang.”

“So when we get to the airport, are we waiting around for the rest of the team to catch up, or heading to Siberia?”

Steve shifted his weight and the Beetle creaked. “I’d prefer not to rush in without the team if we can help it. But at the same time our winter soldier hunter is getting closer to his goal. Not to mention, sitting around here means we’re more likely to be found by Tony.” He sighed and dropped the comm device into his pocket. “So - any suggestions Sergeant?”

Bucky thought for a moment as Sam re-joined them. “Having seen these soldiers in action, I definitely want more allies going up against them. As far as our target is concerned – I’m pretty sure he’s working alone. Ex-military of some sort, but not HYDRA, or he would have had a lot more information that he wouldn’t have needed from me. The way he talked – he kept saying “I” where HYDRA operatives would say “we”. He might be resourceful, but without being backed by HYDRA or any other organisation, he’s going to need to organise his own transport, clean up his tracks. That’s going to buy us some time.” He stared out at the line of trees. “From the questions he asked, he had part of the information, liked he’d heard a rumour that he needed confirmed, but he had no idea where the bunker was located. Easy assumption that it was probably somewhere within the former Soviet Union, but that covers a big area. He didn’t get an exact location until” – his eyes dropped. “I told him.”

“Until he forced it out of you, you mean,” Sam corrected.

Bucky let it stand and continued thinking it through. “So he couldn’t organise his transport until he got that location. If he’s on his own and unfunded by any military or terrorist organisation, he’ll likely be flying commercial flights, taking time to book, check in, going through customs, and flights leave on their schedule, not his. The bunker is far enough out in Siberia that he won’t be getting a direct flight from here too; he’ll go to Moscow first – that’s a minimum three hour flight – and then catch a domestic flight to the nearest regional airport. Then there’s quite a hike through the tundra to get to it from there, and he’ll be on the ground. And the weather is usually shit there at this time of the year.” He looked up at Steve’s eyes. “If we can get that quinjet, we might have a chance.”

Steve considered it and turned to Sam. “Sam? Thoughts?”

Sam shrugged. “On this, I’d trust him – he’s the one with the most experience at getting around while evading people.”

Bucky smirked. “You weren’t that difficult to evade.” Sam shoved at him.

“Alright then kids. Let’s get this three Stooges act on the road. I want us there ready to get wings up the moment Clint and company arrive.”

“Glad to see you know about the three Stooges at least, Cap.”

“Everyone knows about the three Stooges, Sam. Their films have been around since the thirties. Buck and I got to see them when they first came out, ain’t that right Buck?”

“Nyuk nyuk nyuk,” Bucky agreed, surprising Sam into gales of laughter.

 

****

 “Monty Python.”

“Is that a euphemism?” Bucky was in the front seat now, contentedly poking at the bulldog.

“Nah man. A British comedy team. Some people find them too weird, but if you like the Stooges, you might like them,” Sam called from the back.

“Holy Grail was good,” Steve admitted.

“Yeah, the team and I have been catching Steve up on all the best of pop culture he’s missed over the past seventy years. Educating him.”

Despite being on a mission, a wanted man, the PTSD and knowing that the brainwashing hadn’t completely been overcome, Bucky felt like he was really enjoying himself for the first time in…well, he had a few fun times with the Howling Commandos, despite being in the middle of a war. Definitely not while he was held by HYDRA. And while freedom had been enjoyable since then, it had been a long time since he’d had this easy-going companionship. He decided to make the most of it now.

“Buck, you mind shifting your arm a little? The sun’s reflecting off it straight into my eyes.”

Bucky let his arm drop and tucked it down by his side.

“Thanks pal.”

“No problem.”

“Nat reckons they had to teach the old man here how to swear,” Sam went on.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at Steve. “Hate to break it to ya Sam, but Steve already knew how to swear. He didn’t do it much as a kid cos Mama Rogers would have given him a thick ear, but he certainly learned them all once he joined the front lines. Learned them in different languages too. French, German, Italian – Morita taught him a few phrases in Japanese too.”

“Hold on - Nat and Tony and Clint all reckoned you had chipped them on swearing during a mission at different times, and while I know those three can be full of shit at times – pardon my French, Cap – Banner agreed, and him I would believe.”

 Both Bucky and Sam looked to Steve. “While ever I’m wearing the Captain America costume and representing the United States of America, I am contractually obligated not to swear. It sets a bad example for the kids.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow. Seriously?”

“No.”

Bucky snorted with amusement as Sam blinked, taken aback at the deadpan reply. He huffed and nudged the back of Steve’s seat with his knee.

“Well, fuck you too, Cap.” He muttered.

“Had you going for a bit there.”

“Shut up. I hate you both.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one. Hope you guys enjoyed the ride.

“You know, I think Natasha might’ve come and fought with us if we’d had a chance to tell her we’re going up against multiple Winter Soldiers. We never actually got a chance to explain that part to her, or Tony. You know, that there might have been a good reason for becoming outlaws.”

“I liked Natasha,” Bucky put in. “I definitely think she would have come along for the fight. You have good taste in friends Steve.”

“You would say that, being the oldest of my friends,” Steve flashed a smile over at him. “But so far the only time you and Natasha have met, you were trying to kill each other.”

For a moment the only sound was the rattle and growl of the Beatle itself.

“We met in Prague more than a year ago.”

“What?!” Steve sputtered. “She never said!”

Bucky sunk guiltily down his seat as far as the limited leg room allowed. “I asked her not to.”

“What, and she just said ‘yeah ok, no need for Steve to know’?” Steve’s jaw was set, his eyes hurt when he looked over at Bucky. “Buck, we’d been searching for you for ages!”

“I had reasons,” he shot back defensively, “Natasha understood them.”

“What reasons Buck? Now that you’re here and we’re talking, what reasons could you possibly have had to disappear without a word, just as I had found you again?”

Bucky sat back up in his seat suddenly, now on the offensive. “I had to remember –”

“I could’ve helped you remember –” Steve interrupted hotly.

“No. No, you would’ve...” he dragged his fingers through his hair furiously thinking about how to explain it. Sam was silent in the back. “Look. HYDRA...with HYDRA they spent the whole time telling me things. Things they insisted were the truth, and when they tell you a thing is true for long enough, insistent enough, and backed up with enough shock therapy, you begin to believe it. I had no memory of before, and they filled that empty space with facts as they told them. Their truths.”

He took a breath and let it out slowly, calming down a little. Steve seemed to be listening now.

“When I came back to myself...it wasn’t like all the memories suddenly came flooding back at once. I saw a face that seemed to know me, a face that I knew that I knew, but couldn’t remember how I knew you, you know?” He mentally ran over that tangle of words, checking that it made sense. “And a name. Just a starting point to figure out who I was.”

“I could have told you...”

“Told me what? More facts? More truth? But without any memory I wouldn’t be able to tell if that was true. I knew that I knew you, but I wasn’t sure if I could trust you at that point, you could have been lying to me as much as HYDRA did. So I started doing some research on my own, saw my own face in the Smithsonian, saw your face there as well. But I’d been working for HYDRA long enough to know how much they can control information – they had their tentacles in everything.” He looked over at Steve, his jaw still tense but not so angry anymore, taking it in. “I needed time to piece it together; what I had researched, the edges of memory, what seemed familiar, to make sense of it all. Some of it matched up and gave me a bigger picture. Some of it didn’t seem to add up.” He hesitated a moment. “Have you seen some of those comics? Please tell me I never wore red tights under blue underwear. I don’t remember that at all. If so that’s on the list of things I don’t want to remember.”

Steve choked. “No pal, you never wore that. I have no idea where that came from.”

“I might need to hunt down the artist.”

“You gonna try to sue him?”

“Um, yeah...sure, sue him.” The side of his mouth twisted into the ghost of a smile, and Steve, looking across, matched it.

“So you asked Natasha not to tell me she’d found you, because you didn’t think I would understand any of that? And Natasha agreed?”

“It seems Natasha had to go through some of the same... ‘spiritual journey to find herself’ I think were her words.”

“The Red Room,” Steve realised. “They did some brain washing in there too. She was just a kid.”

Bucky leaned his head back against the seat closing his eyes. “They build a world out of lies, and when it comes crashing down you have to work out what’s real and what isn’t. And you don’t trust anyone to tell you anymore.”

“Do you trust me now?”

“Us,” Sam corrected from the back. “Do you trust us?”

Bucky smiled, his eyes still closed. “I’ve told you two more about myself on this car ride than I’ve told anyone in the past 70 years. Maybe longer.”

“Talking about your _feelings_ ,” Steve pointed out, adding the same emphasis Bucky had earlier.

“Yeah, yeah, you got me.”

****

“So, during all that time we were looking for you, where else did you go?”

“Laid low in DC for a few days, healing from the fight and getting my shit together. Realised you guys were on my trail, went to San Francisco, where someone spotted me and called it in.”

“Yeah we knew about those, then you seemed to disappear again.”

“Yeah well – I accidently went to Australia from there – that was a long flight.”

“How the hell did you ‘accidently’ go to Australia?” Sam wondered.

Bucky shifted awkwardly. “I thought the plane was going to Melbourne Airport in Florida,” he finally admitted sheepishly. “Not Melbourne, Australia.”

“Oh man,” a wide grin spread slowly across Sam’s face, and even Steve looked like he was struggling not to laugh. “You ‘accidently’ flew all the way to Melbourne Australia?”

“Not all the way,” he protested. “I got off when it stopped for a layover in Brisbane.”

“Brisbane, Australia?”

“Hey, I was stowed away in the wheel compartment. By the time I realised the mistake I was already over the Pacific, no land in sight.” He slumped in his seat and glared grumpily at the nodding bulldog as the other two men snickered. “Never occurred to me that there were two fucking Melbournes on opposite sides of the world.”

“No wonder we had some much trouble finding you, even you didn’t know where you were going.”

“Shut up.”

“How long were you there?”

“Not long. It was summer there – hot and humid in Queensland, and there’s me with a jacket and gloves on. So yeah, I was attracting just as much attention wearing that as I might’ve with the arm uncovered. Hopped another plane to Singapore. From there to Myanmar. Up through Tibet – I know you picked up my trail for a bit there again – into Kazakhstan. Ukraine. Met Natasha in Prague. Pretty much bounced around East and Central Europe, mostly travelling overland – either going off the grid completely into the wild, or losing myself in the cities when I needed some cash.”

“Why Eastern Europe?” Steve wanted to know. “Would’ve thought you would avoid it.”

“It was kind of...familiar? I guess?” He frowned. “I wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore, but I guess I’d been in the Soviet for long enough that – well, I knew how to survive in the forests. How to blend in the cities. The languages and foods, the bits of culture people never really think about. My – HYDRA never let the Winter Soldier live a normal life, but to be effective they needed me to be familiar with all that.” He shrugged. “As my memories started to come back, I started visiting the places I remembered to help make sense of things. Italy. France. London. Switzerland. Austria.”

“Places we went to during the war.”

“Yeah. But most of them had changed so much that it was hard to reconcile what I remembered with what was in front of me.”

“You never went back to Brooklyn?”

“No I – I wasn’t ready for that. I think. Just didn’t really want to see how much it might’ve changed. In case it made the memories seem less real, ya know?”

“I know.” Steve glanced sideways at him and Bucky belatedly remembered that Steve had probably gone through that too, when he had first woken up 70 years into the future in his own hometown.

“Hey maybe you two should go check out Brooklyn together,” Sam suggested from the back seat. “Kind of help anchor Bucky’s memories. Brooklyn might’ve changed, but Steve hasn’t.”

“Much.” Bucky regarded Steve for a moment. “You’re a little less shiny than you were when you first joined the army, Captain.”

“Yeah? Well the shine must’ve rubbed off onto you, Sergeant,” Steve glanced at the gleaming metal arm, causing Bucky to huff a laugh.

“Not as shiny as you could have been if the USO costume designer had their way, Star Spangled Man with the plan.”

“Bucky, no...”

Sam sat forward suddenly very interested. “What’s this?”

Bucky twisted around to flash a shit-eating grin at him. “One of the designs, they wanted the Star Spangled Man here to be literally spangled.”

Sam goggled. “You mean sequins and sparkles and shit? You’re not kidding me this time?”

“No kidding this time,” Bucky’s grin widened further as Sam hooted with laughter and Steve rolled his eyes.

“I should never have told you that,” Steve complained. “I don’t know why I told you that.”

“Uh, I think I was laughing at the tights, and you told me ‘it could have been worse’ and mentioned the original design.”

“Yeah well I refused to wear it. And luckily the people actually running the USO agreed that a man dressed in sequined tights didn’t quite send the message they wanted.”

He didn’t think Sam could’ve laughed any harder, but he managed it, the entire car shaking with the movement. Still grinning, Bucky looked across to see Steve trying to supress his own laughter, as much at Sam’s reaction as at the mental image of a glittery Captain America single-handedly taking down the Third Reich.

****

“Got a location on the quinjet, Cap. Big hangar at 11 o’clock.”

Instead of pulling into Leipzig/Halle airport, Steve had parked the Beetle off a quiet side road, tucking the tiny car under the shade of a tree. Bucky leaned back on the hood of the car, staring through the chain link fence, Sam standing beside him. The position gave them a view across the expanse of grass and tarmac, the airport terminal and outlying buildings in the distance. Bucky’s enhanced and sniper trained eyes could make out the smaller figures of planes and vehicles moving around the tarmac closest to the buildings, the assorted machinery required to transport and load cargo, security and emergency response vehicles, and the ant-like figures of people moving about. Sam, with the added benefit of his scanner, was able to pick out individual faces on those ants, read heat signatures and weight distribution in the vehicles. Apparently he could also see through walls.

Bucky tried not to be jealous of that. Wondered if he could get a pair of those goggles.

Steve had his communication device tucked in his ear. “Good. I’ve got confirmation Clint has touched down, he’s got Wanda and Lang with him. He’s headed over, we’ll meet in the main carpark in 15. Once we’re inside the airport grounds, it won’t be long for someone to spot us on the security cameras and call it in.”

Sam grunted. “Can’t see any sign of Iron Man yet. He’s got to know we would be coming here by now.”

“Clint says he was spotted in New York a couple of hours ago.”

Sam turned to him and turned off the scanner to focus on Steve’s face. “New York? Why would he go back there?”

“Maybe he’s picking up reinforcements of his own,” Bucky suggested.

“To capture us? Man, people must think we’re dangerous or something.”

Bucky smirked.

“Cap, if we have reinforcements and Stark has reinforcements, and we teamed up, taking down the super soldiers should be pretty easy.”

“And I’m still hoping we have a chance to talk him round. But much as I hate it, if he’s still too intent on taking us into custody to listen, we’re going to have to go through him. We can’t afford not to.” He looked earnestly at them both. “I know it’s one thing to ask you to fight an enemy and something entirely different to fight a friend.”

Sam shrugged. “Stark’s more your friend than mine, Cap.”

“He’s not my friend at all,” Bucky put in with a twisted smile.

“Alright.” He stared silently out across the airfield and Bucky realised that it was Steve trying to come to terms with what he was about to do – Steve, who always saw the best in everyone, who had thrown away his shield and refused to fight back as the Winter Soldier beat him half to death, trusting that somewhere inside was still the friend that had stood at his side for so many years. Steve who was now facing the possibility of fighting past another friend in order to defeat an enemy.

The three men stood together, lost in their own thoughts, watching the long grass ripple in the wind. The comm unit buzzed.

“Time to go boys.”

****

**Epilogue:**

The engines of the quinjet roared to life as Steve flicked a couple of switches overhead and eased the quinjet forward. The building was starting to collapse around them, then damage Vision had done causing the structure to weaken. Bucky looked across from the co-pilot’s seat at the determined expression on Steve’s face – a sight that he didn’t think he could ever forget again. The wings of the quinjet unfolded, causing a screech of metal as a piece of the structure scraped against the wing, not causing enough damage to prevent the jet from taking flight. Bucky felt the vibrating power build beneath him, the quinjet lifting into the air.

The stolen bulldog, stuck to the quinjet's dashboard with the same ageing blu-tack that had once attached it to the dashboard of the Beetle, bobbled crazily then settled as they levelled out at altitude.


End file.
